Touch The Midnight Sun
by Sinbrat
Summary: Richie's on the road, trying to deal with what's happened when he runs into an old friend.


  
  


** TOUCH THE MIDNIGHT SUN  
© Sin (16 Jan 2000)  
**  


> * * *
> 
>   

> 
> DISCLAIMER: They don't belong to me - nuh huh! If they did I wouldn't let them out to play with anybody - I'm kind of greedy that way. Methos, Duncan and Joe (the last two are only mentioned in passing) belong to DPP and others. Richie is ensconced with the Barmy (sorry, Red =) Army where he's worshipped and adored by the devoted members of his Clan. 
> 
> WARNING: Okay, so there's a bit of bad language in here, but that's about it. 
> 
> THANX: To Nicholas for sending me the lyrics. As soon as I read them, the idea for the story popped straight into my head - it only took me about 15 minutes to have a rough outline done. Gotta love it when that happens! =) 
> 
> [FEEDBACK:][1] Is always appreciated and eagerly awaited. Feel free to email me and tell me what you think! 
> 
> NOTES: For this Lyric Wheel story, I'm not going the ambiguous route (scary, scary =). This is set post Deliverance and I don't know if this is going to be a part of my Sun and Moon AU - but it's something I can almost imagine happening in the canon universe. 
> 
> Ride The Wind--by Poison 
> 
> Hearts of fire   
streets of stone   
Modern Warriors  
Saddle iron horses of chrome  
taste the wild   
lick the wind  
like something they never saw before  
their jaws dropping to the floor  
steel made of soul and sin  
rebels born without a care  
and the day he listens   
only to fly where eagles dare   
and the night she whispers  
  
Chorus:  
Ride the wind never coming back  
until I touch the midnight sun  
Until I touch the midnight sun  
Ride the wind never coming back again  
Ride the wind never coming back  
until I touch the midnight sun  
  
Painted flesh   
loyalty   
humble pride  
just as far as the eye can see   
stories told   
two old friends   
of battle scars and lonely bars   
and nights the rain wouldn't end   
here's to withered eyes wearing gypsy smiles  
and the day he listens   
here's to lovely ladies and a million miles   
and the night she whispers   
  
Chorus  
  
of all the truths and lies  
and stories of riders in the sky  
they say only the bravest try  
where eagles and angels dare to fly  
  
Chorus 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Prologue: 
> 
> "Just tell me why. The teacher kills the pupil? Is that what this is all about? Is it because there can only be one? Is that it?" 
> 
> "That's as good a reason as any." 
> 
> The maliciously amused voice seemed to reverberate through his brain, tumbling his thoughts into a battering storm of disbelief, betrayal and bone deep hurt. He recoiled as the blade traced along his neck, barely touching the skin but burning like a brand where ever it passed. 
> 
> He tensed, knowing that the coup de grace was at hand, knowing that nothing would halt the final cleaving of blade through flesh that would end his existence as he knew it. Every sense, every nerve seemed to be focused on the man circling around to the side of him, the last eidetic accounting before his world ended forever. A soft murmur of air heralded the descending blow, almost as if the very elements themselves were protesting this betrayal of trust and friendship. 
> 
> Unconsciously flinching at the sound and the movement of the dark form out of the corner of his eye, Richie ... 
> 
> ... sat bolt upright in the bed, his breathing clawing up from his chest as the sweat sheening his skin pooled and ran in small rivulets down his shivering flesh. 
> 
> "Dammit! Not again," he swore, the damp pillow bearing the brunt of his anger as it went flying across the room. Running his hands through his sweat-dampened curls, he dropped his head to rest against his updrawn knees, the weight of his dreams and the reality that they had spawned from weighing heavily on his young shoulders. "How long's this going to last?" He implored, not know whether the plea was to himself or to some higher power. 
> 
> Throwing back the sheets, he jammed his feet into a pair of jeans and pulled on a t-shirt, before collecting his jacket from off the back of the room's single chair. Keys, wallet and helmet soon followed and within the space of five minutes the young Immortal was no more than a memory, the door banging hollowly behind him. 
> 
> That was the pattern to his existence now - he rode, he slept, he woke up in the early morning hours shaking and covered in sweat. Then, to settle his shattered nerves he found the nearest bar and wallowed in self pity and morose thoughts until the sun broke the horizon and he started the cycle once again. 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Part One: 
> 
> The amber liquid seemed to catch what little light there was in the dingy interior of the bar, the most recent in a long line of such places that the young Immortal had frequented in the time since his world had been shattered by the one person he thought he could trust. He wasn't truly cognizant of the number of days, weeks that had passed, the never ending cycle of grief and anger, riding and sleeping, seemed to blur into the past as it blurred his future - a never-ending parade of pain and despair that stretched before him with no hope of surcease. 
> 
> Turning the glass in his fingers again, Richie sighed heavily, his thoughts returning again to his friend, his mentor, the one man who had shown him the heights to which he could rise to if he only made the effort - and the depths to which one could sink to given the right circumstances. Anger clouded the good memories, the times when playful teasing and quipped remarks had been a staple of their relationship, until all that remained was the bitter taste of betrayal and broken dreams that even the flavor of bad scotch couldn't disguise. 
> 
> He knew, he'd tried that avenue of forgetfulness, but all that had resulted from it was more vivid nightmares and a hellish hangover until his Immortal healing had taken care of the physical manifestation of his grief. Not even his Immortal gifts could heal the ache that clenched his heart and the doubt that plagued his mind. 
> 
> Sighing again, he brought the glass to his lips and took a healthy swig of the amber fluid, grimacing slightly as the harsh burn of the liquid bit into his throat. << Never thought I'd miss good scotch, >> he thought to himself, raising the glass to eye level for a cursory glance before it clinked against the table again. << Considering how much of the stuff Joe used to ply himself and the rest of us with, I'd have thought it was a hell of a lot cheaper. >> 
> 
> "Honey, you wanna refill?" The nasal voice grated on his nerves, bringing his vacant gaze up from where it had rested on his hands, his brain taking a moment to comprehend that the overblown waitress was asking if he wanted another drink. 
> 
> "I'm fine." He responded tonelessly, his gaze dropping again to stare unseeing at the table as his mind replayed that fateful scene once again. He should have known - the way Mac looked, the way he stood, the way he spoke, everything was wrong - but he'd ignored it, more concerned with fending off the Scottish brood that was bound to have been infecting the other man. 
> 
> "You should go home, honey." The waitress' voice pulled him from his reverie again. 
> 
> "Pardon?" 
> 
> "Go home." Her heavily made up face creased into lines that could only be called motherly. "This isn't your kind of place." 
> 
> "Home ..." Richie felt the word sour in his mouth, his heart twisting in his chest. He looked into the woman's concerned brown eyes and replied honestly, "I don't have a home." 
> 
> "Everybody has a home ..." Her words seemed to drift away, lost under the one sensation that could snap him out of his wallowing like no other. 
> 
> It started on the periphery of his senses, a murmuring hum that grew gradually until it had built into a full-blown, reverberant rumble that sang in his brain like the clarion call to battle that it truly was. His gaze snapped towards the door in time to see a tall figure silently slip through, pausing for moment to let his narrowed gaze adjust to the murky penumbra that made up the interior of the bar. 
> 
> Richie felt a flash of surprise flow through him at the sight of the familiar face, a niggling sense of welcome that was drowned beneath the anger that burned sullenly at the edge of his emotions. He watched silently as the other's eyes lit upon him in recognition, the set of broad shoulders relaxing slightly as their gazes met. 
> 
> << What the hell's he doing here? >> The young Immortal fought an internal battle with himself about whether to stay or to leave, his decision made for him when he found he was unable to resist letting his eyes track the other Immortal as the man moved to the bar and ordered a drink. A beer was duly handed over and with a nod of thanks the Immortal turned, making his way towards the table, stopping only to make some unknown comment to the concerned waitress who passed him on her way back to the bar. Pulling out a chair without nary so much as a by your leave, Adam sat down and placed his beer on the table. 
> 
> Watching the Immortal from across the table, Richie argued with himself - one part of him wanted to know what this was about, while the other jeered at him for being a sentimental and naïve fool. The jeering voice won out in the end and with a burning look he waited for Adam to say his piece so that he could get the hell out of here and back on the road again. 
> 
> The silence stretched between them, growing more strained with each passing moment as neither was willing to give an inch and be the first to concede defeat by speaking. 
> 
> Finally, as the need to break the overwhelming tension started to build in Richie, he was given a reprieve as the other Immortal shifted in his chair and murmured, "So ..?" 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Part Two: 
> 
> "... what's a nice kid like you doing in a place like this?" 
> 
> The kid remark was enough to get the young Immortal's temper simmering, an easy task due to the amount of restrained emotion festering inside him. Unwilling to provoke Adam until the true nature of his appearance was revealed, Richie tamped down on his rising ire and just sent a speaking look at the other man. 
> 
> "Nice place you've picked out here. Love what they've done with the décor - the cobwebs in the corners are a nice touch." 
> 
> The other Immortal took a sip of his beer, his nose wrinkling at the first taste of the brew which he quickly placed back on the table. "Beer's awful. How can you be in a place where the beer's awful? Ah, you're going the hard stuff. Is it any better?" 
> 
> Richie pushed his forgotten glass across the table, still unwilling to engage in any kind of verbal sparring with this man because he knew that the result would not be in his favour, and the last thing he wanted was Adam pushing his buttons. 
> 
> "You're looking good, by the way. Seems life on the road is treating you well." 
> 
> Richie snorted, amazed that the man could make light of such a tense and tragic situation. 
> 
> "The company's uncommunicative, the beer's lousy and, all in all, it stinks. You know, I could get used to a place like this." 
> 
> "What the hell do you want, Adam?" Richie snarled, unable to retain his detachment any longer. The other Immortal's faux-casual remarks igniting the anger swirling inside him and providing a target for his undirected rage. 
> 
> A calm and direct look from the hazel eyes had Richie reevaluating his attitude towards the other man. "I wanted to see how you are." 
> 
> "I'm just peachy, can't you tell?" Richie motioned towards the bar around him, "this is where I always wanted to end up." 
> 
> "You could go home." 
> 
> Richie couldn't have contained the bitter laugh that erupted from his throat even if he had wanted to. "What home? I don't have a home." He unconsciously repeated the words he had spoken earlier to the waitress. 
> 
> "Yes, you do. And you have a friend who'd like to see you." 
> 
> "Friend is he?!" Richie spat, leaning across the table to make his point. "That *friend* came this close to taking my head ... again!" 
> 
> "It was the Dark ..." 
> 
> "... Quickening. Yeah, I know. Same story, different verse." Richie closed his eyes briefly against the pain that flared through him. "I've had enough of people I call my friends trying to kill me. I think I'll just go find some enemies instead, at least you know where you stand with them!" 
> 
> "Mac would want to see you." 
> 
> "Are you his squire now, Adam? You might want to be careful, he has a bad habit of attacking the person in that position." A bitter smile accompanied the last words as Richie pushed his chair back, the legs making a muted screech against the floor. "I don't care what he wants ... not anymore." 
> 
> "Rich ..." 
> 
> Grabbing the other's discarded beer, he clinked it against the glass. "Here's to a million miles between me and Mac." Taking a swig of the beer he dropped it back on the table, not caring that only the quick intervention of the other man stopped it from spilling. "It's been fun, Adam. Let's not do it again." 
> 
> And with that last parting shot, he walked towards the door. He was peripherally aware that Adam dropped a couple of dollars on the table and followed after him, but ignored the overture as he straddled his bike and made to put his helmet on. The strong hand that stopped the movement was a surprise, he glanced at it before making the mistake of looking up into the other's eyes again. 
> 
> "If you need anything, call me." 
> 
> "Why? So you can tell Mac where I am?" Richie retorted, berating himself for the slight warming that the other's offer induced. 
> 
> "He's got Joe for that if he wants to track you." Adam snapped back. 
> 
> Richie was startled by the vehement comeback, forgoing a snide remark in place of a dubious look. 
> 
> "I know we're not friends, not really, you and I. But I'd like to help." 
> 
> The look of sincerity in the other's eyes was enough to make Richie reconsider his next words, but the cauldron of broken trust and shattered dreams of family that welled within him needed an outlet. "Then keep Mac the hell away from me!" he snarled. 
> 
> "Just talk to him ..." 
> 
> "Yeah, right! And the day he listens to me is the day myths come true and Horton wakes from the dead!" Richie spat with derision, his heart clenching as he felt the pain clutch at him again. "Besides, it's up to him this time - he fucked up big. If he wants to find me, he can. If he doesn't ... well, I guess that really shows where I stand in the scheme of things." Richie roughly shoved his helmet on, using it to shield the suspicious welling of tears that last thought brought to his eyes and also to block out any reply Adam might have made. 
> 
> Blinking rapidly, he bit back on the pleading request for help that part of him wanted to make. Instead, he pulled himself together, cloaking himself in righteous anger before meeting the other's gaze, his own eyes bright with unshed tears and uttered one final, bitter comment. "I may be roadkill in the Game, but I'm sure as hell going to go down fighting and on my own terms." 
> 
> Slamming his visor down, he pealed out of the parking lot, not caring about the gravel that more than likely sprayed the other Immortal in the wake of his abrupt departure. 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Epilogue: 
> 
> Methos stood there silently, ruefully shaking his head as the deep purr of the motorcycle's engine continued to rumble in the still night air for a few moments after the young Immortal had disappeared from view. << You should know better than to get involved, Old Man, >> he told himself, hoping that in coming here he hadn't made the situation worse. 
> 
> "Bloody hell!" 
> 
> He shoved his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and slowly paced the distance to his car. Turning the keys meditatively in his fingers, he stopped again and looked back down the road in the direction the other had taken. 
> 
> "Be well, Richie Ryan. Ride the wind until you touch the midnight sun, but come back whole." 
> 
> [Want to send feedback?][1]

   [1]: mailto:rynx@geocities.com?Subject=Re: Touch The Midnight Sun



End file.
